


The Last Gryffindor Spy

by lirin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Gen, Spy Percy Weasley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27281554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirin/pseuds/lirin
Summary: Everybody knew that Pius Thicknesse was a figurehead. Percy was quite sure that even Thicknesse himself knew it by this point. But every day, Percy bowed and scraped to him—"Yes, Minister. Right away, Minister. Good idea, Minister."—as if it actually mattered. Well, it mattered to Percy.
Relationships: Percy Weasley & Weasley Family
Comments: 5
Kudos: 88
Collections: Fic In A Box





	The Last Gryffindor Spy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosestone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosestone/gifts).



Everyone knew that Pius Thicknesse was a figurehead. Percy was quite sure that even Thicknesse himself knew it by this point (as much as the man knew anything; the Order reported that he'd been trapped under Imperius for the better part of two years by now). But every day, Percy bowed and scraped to him—"Yes, Minister. Right away, Minister. Good idea, Minister."—as if it actually mattered.

Well, it still mattered to Percy. It was what he had always done, and it certainly wouldn't do to change things up now. Every day he spent acting as if everything was normal was hopefully one more day that nobody guessed that he had any objection to the way things were.

And as long as they didn't guess that anything was the matter, they wouldn't keep a close watch on which files Percy was allowed to access. Tonight, it was a list of upcoming arrests. For months, these lists had mostly contained half-bloods, since the Muggleborns were all either dead or in hiding. But now the half-bloods too were nearly all captured, or killed, or fled, and so the lists had begun to contain more pureblood names than they had held since this all began.

Of course Percy's own relatives had gone into hiding even before the Dark Lord had won the war, which was why Percy jumped to see the name "Weasley" on the list. He glanced around quickly, but the room was empty and no one had seen his reaction. The door to the Minister's inner office remained closed. With shaking hands, Percy smoothed out the paper where he had clutched at it in his surprise, and set it down on the desk in front of him.

Shipbury. He'd wondered where they were hiding—though of course he'd never dared to ask—and he supposed Shipbury was as good a place as any. And so they'd still been in the same country as Percy, all these months. Well, it wasn't as if they'd been wondering why he hadn't visited.

But even though they still wouldn't want to see him, he was going to have to pay them a visit tonight.

With a quick wave of his wand, Percy transfigured the list into a chocolate frog. He slipped the frog into his robes' right side pocket, gathered together his lunchbox and few other belongings, and hurried out of the office. With any luck, nobody would ever realize the list of arrests had gone missing.

On the other hand, it was quite possible somebody already knew that Percy would be reading that piece of paper with its damning "Weasley" halfway down the page, and they were just waiting to watch what he would do.

But nobody stopped him on his way to the Ministry atrium, which was something at least. Just in case, he took the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron instead of going straight home, and then Apparated three separate times to make sure he wasn't being followed.

* * *

It had been in seventh year that everything had changed. (It had changed several times since then, but for Percy, that year had been the first.) That had been the year that everybody thought the castle was in danger from Sirius Black, and Percy had mostly been worried about that and about his N.E.W.T.s and about keeping a good reputation as Head Boy.

Then a week before Easter, Headmaster Dumbledore called Percy into his office. After the usual pleasantries—Have a seat, how are your classes, would you like a lemon drop—were dispensed with, Dumbledore sat down at his desk and clasped his hands together. "You were aware of what happened with Professor Quirrell, the year before last?"

"Well, sir, I was really trying to concentrate on my schoolwork," Percy told him. "I had my O.W.L.s that year, you know."

"Yes, and you did very well on them, I believe," Dumbledore said. "But in that same year, we faced the first attempted return of Lord Voldemort.

Lord Voldemort. A shiver ran down Percy's spine at the name. He'd grown up on tales of You-Know-Who and how powerful he had been. Percy's uncles had been in the Order of the Phoenix that had fought Voldemort, in those terrifying years before Harry Potter brought an end to the war. Everybody said they'd been very brave and skillful, but they'd still died. 

If there was one thing Percy knew about himself, it was that he wasn't a fighter. He was good with numbers, and schoolwork in general, and at keeping things neat and tidy, but he wasn't capable of fighting in a war the way his uncles had. "I don't think that has anything to do with me, sir."

"Not exactly," said Dumbledore. "But you see, Lord Voldemort is going to try again."

"I can't fight him," Percy hurried to say. "I'm going to work at the Ministry. I've already applied."

"Yes, my dear boy, I know," Dumbledore said. "That's why I wanted to speak to you. There may come a day, very soon, when the Order of the Phoenix will have to be reconvened."

"I'm not my uncles," Percy said. "I know I got top marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but that's only because I'm very good at writing essays."

"Not to mention the fact that more than half of your Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers have been rubbish," Dumbledore interposed.

"Yes, that too," Percy agreed, then realized that Dumbledore had just criticized his own employees. He blinked a few times; he'd never heard a professor criticize other professors in front of him before. "Anyhow, practical Defense Against the Dark Arts isn't my strong suit."

"Fortunately, that isn't what I'm asking of you," Dumbledore said. "You said you want to work at the Ministry; so do I. Want you to work at the Ministry, that is; I wouldn't wish to work there myself. But I think you'll do very well there."

"And?" Percy frowned. "What about You-Know-Who?"

"Ah, yes. When Lord Voldemort returns, the Ministry may not be such a kind place to work. You may find yourself able to do some good if you keep your head down and toe the party line. Present yourself as an irreproachable, impeccable employee: the very sort of employee I am sure you intend to be regardless. And let me know if you come across anything that you think I might want to know. Anything that can help us defeat Lord Voldemort, if that is possible; and if not, at least to make it harder for him to hurt people."

"You want me to spy for you."

"You told me yourself, dear boy; you're not cut out to be a duelist. But you've always been a stickler for the rules—I've seen what sort of infractions you've deducted House points for over the last two years. And someone who cares as much as you do about following every single rule will be good at escaping suspicion."

"I don't think—"

Dumbledore stood up, and his voice was suddenly grave. "Lord Voldemort is coming back. I don't know when it will happen, but there is no question that all of his efforts are focused in that direction. You were a child when he was defeated, but I think you still know how bad things were in those days. When he returns, do you want to hide in the shadows and watch your friends and family die, or do you want to make a difference?"

It was the headmaster of Percy's school asking the question, but also on one of the greatest wizards Percy had ever met, and one of the leaders of the last war—who was sure to be one of the leaders of the coming one. As much as Percy truly wanted, in that moment, to hide in the shadows, he knew that wouldn't be a possibility. And so he figured he might as well enter the war on his own terms, and maybe have Dumbledore even owe him a favor. "I'll do it," he said.

If he'd known then all that being a spy would entail, he never could have brought himself to agree. But he wasn't an adult yet, and there wasn't yet a war on. Everything was so much simpler in those days.

* * *

It didn't take Percy long to pack up everything in his dreary bachelor flat. Working ten- or eleven-hour days at the Ministry left little time for hobbies or for the use of any possessions at all beyond clothes and food, so he'd never bothered to accumulate very many. He cast a half-hearted Extension Charm on the sack he'd brought home last week's groceries in, and tumbled the contents of his chest of drawers into it.

Percy's contacts in the Order had told him to stay put and behave absolutely normally, but surely they would understand that he couldn't do so in this situation. His family must be warned. And once they were warned, they wouldn't be in Shipbury for the Ministry officials or Death Eaters to come knocking at their door, and somebody at the Ministry would be sure to guess that Percy was responsible for tipping them off. He couldn't stay here, couldn't walk into the Ministry as normal tomorrow and wait for the blow to fall.

That was too much to ask of him, wasn't it?

Percy tied the bag's handles shut and glanced around the rest of the room. Its only adornments were a years old Christmas card, a couple of _Daily Prophet_ articles (both of which mentioned Percy by name, correctly spelled and everything) and a sadly out-of-date calendar. Percy cast a spell at it, and two pages flipped over. He hadn't thought it had been quite that long since he'd touched it, but then it was so easy to lose track of the passage of time these days. Percy shrugged, and picked up his bag. He certainly wouldn't miss this place—thought he might miss the silence and solitude. He anticipated a lot of yelling later on this evening, and they wouldn't be yells of joy and delight.

* * *

The last time Percy saw Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon was when he was five years old. He hadn't known that it was the last time he'd see them, or even that there was a war on at all. All he'd known was that his uncles didn't come round very often, and when they did, the adults always went in the other room and talked a lot in hushed whispers. They were always frowning when they came out of the room, but then Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon would come over to Percy and Charlie and Bill and the twins—Ron was just a baby then, and Ginny wouldn't be born for another few months—and paste smiles on their faces. "Who wants to play Exploding Snap?" they'd say. "We brought Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and Fizzing Whizbees."

That was what Percy remembered most about them: more sweets than Mother would ever allow them to eat in one day, and smiles and loud laughter.

When they'd died, they'd been heroes. Everybody had known what they'd done and why they'd done it. They'd been true Gryffindors, people said, brave to the end.

Percy had been sorted into Gryffindor too, damn it. Why did he end up sneaking around like a Slytherin? He knew very well, from bitter experience these last few years, that it took a great deal of bravery to walk into the Ministry every day and act as if he hadn't a care in the world, but it wasn't the sort of bravery that anyone else could appreciate.

But at least Percy was still alive and feeding information to the Order of the Phoenix. Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon had had that one big battle that everyone talked about, and then they'd been gone, and no more use to anybody. What mattered these days was that the war was brought to an end, and not any individual acts of heroism.

If the war ever ended, that is. These days it seemed more likely that the only way it would end was when Voldemort finally achieved total victory.

(Most people were of the opinion that the war had already ended. The few hangers-on still fighting weren't worth paying attention to. Some days, Percy thought so too, but he kept going to the Ministry anyway; it wasn't as if there was anything else he could do.)

* * *

The look on Percy's father's face had been the most difficult part of the whole business.

Dumbledore was absolutely right, and Percy knew it: Father not only was a bad liar, but he was an even worse actor, and there was no way he could keep such a crucial secret for years without slipping, while working in the same building as Percy, day after day.

That didn't make it hurt any less when Father's eyes filled up with tears halfway through Percy's yelled explanation of how he never wanted to see any of them again, how he hated them all and they were all fools and shouldn't listen to a word Dumbledore said, and by the way it's all your fault that our family never had enough money.

"You're making a big mistake," Father said, his quick blinks doing little to stop the tears splashing down his nose. "But it's not too late. We can get through this as a family."

Percy clenched his fists tight, reminded himself what Dumbledore had said about making a difference, and kept yelling. "Why would I want to be part of a family like this, Father? We don't agree on anything, you're haring after foolish conspiracy theories about You-Know-Who, and I'm not sure any of you particularly like me anyway. Besides, you'll be able to provide for the rest of the family more properly once I'm out of the house and earning my own living..."

The words stung Percy at least as much as they stung his father. He wondered if he'd ever see any of them again. He didn't want this stormy departure to be the last thing they all remembered about him if they died in the war. But Dumbledore had said there was no other way, and Dumbledore was the greatest wizard Percy had ever known. And so Percy found himself slamming the front door of the home he had grown up in, and stumbling down the road, clutching a briefcase and dragging a small trunk behind him that together held all of the belongings he had in the world.

He wondered sometimes, afterwards, if anyone in his family thought that this actions had been out of character; if any of them had been surprised by his words and guessed that he was playing a part. Or was this no more than they'd expected of him, all along?

* * *

Percy Apparated three more times after he left his flat, just in case. Constant vigilance, as Mad-Eye Moody always used to say, was the key to continued survival.

The rendezvous point, for whenever Percy needed to contact the order, was in the corner of a rundown Muggle car park, at the far end from the stores that the car park served. Percy didn't want to Apparate right in the middle of it, where anyone could hear and see him arrive before he'd had a chance to get his bearings. Instead, on his final Apparition, he aimed for the back of the Asda, where the buildings would be between him and anyone who might be waiting for him.

His aim was off and he ended up nearly on top of the dumpster, which made him doubly glad that there was nobody there to see his arrival. He picked himself up off of the pavement, dusted himself off, and glared at the dumpster for good measure. Just to be certain, he set down his bag of clothes for a moment, and cast _Revelio_ and a few other checking charms. But as he had expected, there was nothing to be found. More and more as the night went on, he was beginning to feel certain that the list he had found was indeed not a trap but a spot of luck. And if he could save his family's lives, then all the work he'd put in—all the lies, all the hurt looks from people who cared about him—would be worth it.

Wand at the ready, he walked quickly but calmly around the side of Asda and past a few late-night shoppers. At this distance, he could already see a woman standing where he knew the rendezvous point to be. Her long light-colored hair glinted in the light from a nearby streetlamp. She was wearing a collection of Muggle clothing, though Percy had no idea whether she had it right way round and in the right configuration to actually fit in among Muggles. From comments he'd heard Muggle-born students make over the years, that was a skill many wizards and witches lacked. Percy himself hadn't bothered; he'd only be here for a minute before they departed for wizarding territory once again; and he'd catch no more attention in robes in the dark than he might if he accidentally combined sleepwear and formal wear or some other faux pas.

As he drew nearer, he tried to remember where he'd seen the woman before. She was young, almost definitely younger than Percy himself. She hadn't been in Gryffindor, or he'd be able to place her more easily. Ravenclaw, perhaps? He'd used to study with the Ravenclaws sometimes, and as Head Boy he'd organized joint study sessions for the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors (hoping some of the former's study habits would rub off on the latter). If she was in any of the six years after Percy, she might well have been at those study sessions. And she almost certainly was six or less years younger than Percy; she certainly didn't look any younger than Ginny. (Though—Percy flinched at the realization—Ginny herself likely didn't look anything like Percy remembered her. It had been nearly three years since the last time he'd glimpsed her.)

"Jarvey, Kneazle, Murtlap," Percy said stiffly when he got within speaking distance of the woman. He'd been given the password at his last meeting, and been careful not to write it down anywhere. He felt rather proud of himself, really, remembering a nonsense list of animals precisely for months in and among all the other detritus he needed to remember on a day-to-day basis. The blessings of a well-ordered mind.

"Bundimun, Kappa, Niffler," the woman said lightly, and Percy relaxed his wand hand a tad. He was still ready to cast a spell in an instant if necessary, but at least he was no longer pointing his wand directly at her chest. It was politer that way. "You're Percy," she continued, holding her own wand in a loose grip at her side. "It's nice to meet you."

"And you, Miss..."

"Oh, I'm Luna. Luna Lovegood. I say it's nice to meet you, but really we met a couple of times at school. I don't think you ever said anything to me, though."

"At the Gryffindor–Ravenclaw study sessions, wasn't it?"

"Exactly! Of course I was years behind you and we were never studying the same thing, so there was never any reason for us to speak. But still, I think it's the thought that counts, don't you?"

"The thought?"

"That we've met each other, and thus we're acquaintances. And that's a step beyond allies, don't you think?"

"I suppose. Wait—did you know I was on your side? That's supposed to be a deep secret."

"No," she said dreamily. "Well, not in so many words. But it seemed likely, don't you think?"

"Likely!" After all the lies and all the lonely days avoiding his family and everyone he'd ever known, after all the days marching into the Ministry and doing a damn good job of whatever he was asked to do, there were many words Percy might have used to describe his membership in the Order, but _likely_ was not one of them. He hoped nobody else thought so, for the sake of his cover.

Except he didn't need to worry about his cover anymore. He clutched the bag at his side tightly. At last, he was free.

"You're a Gryffindor," Luna said in reply, as if that explained anything.

"And being a Ravenclaw, of course you know all about Gryffindors," Percy said. "You didn't know I was coming tonight, did you?"

"No," she said. "Ought I to have?"

"No, I haven't been in contact. I'm just worried, don't mind me."

"I'm here most Thursdays," she said. "We take it in turns. Sometimes I come on Wednesday instead, if the wind is in the east."

"I wouldn't have come if it wasn't important," Percy said. "I...I need to break my cover. My family is in danger. I saw a list, and their name was on it."

"We shouldn't talk about that here," Luna said. She held out her arm. "Come with me."

Together, they turned on the spot, and the car park disappeared.

* * *

The last time Percy had spoken to his family was in 1996, at Christmastime. Back in those days, Dumbledore was still Headmaster of Hogwarts, and Scrimgeour was Minister for Magic, and everybody Percy cared about was still alive. At the time, most everybody thought things were quite bad, but it had frankly all been rather wonderful in comparison to the way things would become.

Percy had been terribly annoyed with Scrimgeour that Christmas, though. His boss had utterly insisted that Percy needed to drop by and visit his family, since they were so close and all. "What is Christmas without family?" he pontificated, as if it wasn't completely obvious that he only cared about speaking to Harry Potter, and would be quite happy to ignore all of his own family for Christmas if it served his purposes.

Since Percy's own family had last seen Percy when he'd been making various rude comments about Dumbledore on his way out the door, Percy didn't think any of Scrimgeour's holiday-related platitudes really applied to his situation. But Scrimgeour would not be denied; he took a firm grip of Percy's wrist, and Percy, who would never dare risk his position at the Ministry, had perforce to accompany him.

It was exactly as awkward as he had expected. Scrimgeour, scarcely attempting to sell his cover story at all, immediately dragged Harry Potter off somewhere for a private talk. Percy stood there, in the dining room of the house he had grown up in, looking around at his family and their guests, and couldn't think of a single word to say.

His family, on the other hand, could think of quite a few words. "Why'd you bother showing your ugly face here, after all this time?" George snapped.

"Mum's been worried about you, even though we told her to stop wasting her time on someone who didn't deserve it," Fred added.

Ron and Bill just glared. Ginny opened her mouth to say something Percy was sure would be cutting, and he just couldn't take it anymore. "Excuse me," he said. He shouldered his way past them all, ignoring the way the twins shoved back as he passed. He crossed the hall, went into the living room, and leaned against the mantlepiece.

Scrimgeour just wanted to speak to Harry Potter, Percy reminded himself. That was the only reason they were here, and he couldn't intend to be more than a few minutes about it, or he would have come up with a better excuse. (Wouldn't he have? Percy was struck with a momentary feeling of panic, wondering how he could make it through multiple hours in a building with a bunch of people who hated him and a bunch of people whom he had hurt, but he tamped the thought down. Surely Scrimgeour would only be a few minutes.)

Behind Percy, the door to the living room clicked shut. "Percy," Professor Lupin said quietly.

Percy's shoulders tightened as he felt Lupin's gaze on him, but he didn't turn around. He was nearly certain that Lupin was aware of what Dumbledore had asked Percy to do, but it seemed a risk to raise the topic with so many people nearby in such a small house.

"Are you all right?" Lupin asked.

Percy shrugged, trying to make the motion seem as light and uncaring as possible. "I've had better Christmases, but thank you for asking."

"I don't suppose the Minister asked you whether you wanted to visit, before claiming that you did."

"He didn't ask anything of the sort. He was very desirous to visit Harry Potter, and apparently I was the perfect excuse."

"Sorry about your Christmas," Lupin said.

Percy ran a hand through his hair. "It was hardly going to be a particularly traditional Christmas no matter what I did," he said. "I was planning on sitting at home and drinking some eggnog I got at a Muggle store and opening my zero presents, and I'll still have plenty of time to do that after I get home from doing this errand for my employer."

"Ah...yes, I suppose you will. Excuse me."

The living room door clicked open and shut again, and the itching in Percy's shoulders subsided as he was once more alone. He'd spent so much time alone, what was a little more?

And there was the door, once more, this time slamming so hard it banged against the wall next to it. "You really need to apologize to Mum. And to Dad, and all of us if you've got any time after the aforementioned." Come to think of it, being alone was definitely preferable to most alternatives.

Thankfully, Scrimgeour came in from the garden after only a few more minutes, before the twins and Ginny could upgrade from flinging mashed parsnips to anything more serious. Percy blinked back tears, pasted the most withering glare he could muster onto his face, and marched in the Minister's wake.

Lupin was standing next to the front door, and his hand brushed against Percy's as he followed the Minister outside. "Happy Christmas, Percy," Lupin murmured, and Percy realized that he'd slipped a small paper-wrapped package into his hand. By the time he noticed, though, he was already through the door; even as he turned to respond, someone slammed the door in his face.

"Come along, Percy," the Minister said. "I do love Christmas, don't you?"

"Yes, Minister," Percy said.

When he opened the package that night, while drinking distinctly third-rate eggnog, he found that it contained only a small assortment of sweets and a new quill, and a Christmas card with a note apologizing that Lupin hadn't been able to get him anything more than that ("but I didn't know you were coming until the last minute"). Percy smiled, and taped the card up on his wall, next to the article he'd cut out from the _Daily Prophet_ when he'd gotten his name in the paper for the first time ever.

The only contact he'd had in years was messages from the Order of the Phoenix, with more rules and duties for him from people who never mentioned whether they cared about him personally. Lupin was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and Percy had feared that this package was only an excuse to discreetly tell him what he needed to do over the next months. But it was only a gift, an honest-to-goodness gift. Percy didn't care how small it was; it was the kindest thing anybody had done for him in months.

* * *

As an adult wizard, Percy considered himself an old hand at Apparition, and he prided himself that he didn't pale or stumble at all as he landed next to Luna in a country lane in what was presumably Shipbury. Hedges lined both sides of the lane, and a barn was visible in the closest field, silhouetted by the light of the moon.

"They don't know whether I'll be coming back with anybody—or coming back at all," Luna said in a much lighter tone than her subject matter warranted. "The safehouse is right nearby, but of course you can't see it. I have a note from the Secret Keeper, but it looks like the Nargles must have hidden it. Just a moment."

"I hope it's not that barn," Percy said as Luna rummaged through her bag.

Her head popped up at once, and she gazed intently at Percy. "You see a barn?"

"That's what it looks like to me. Over there?" Percy pointed.

"Well, that's too bad," Luna said. "Even if the Fidelius Charm is broken, I would have hoped that the Aeolian Snurtweasels would help obscure its location."

"The Fidelius Charm," Percy said. "Broken." He could feel his heart start pounding faster. "We don't even know how long it's been broken for. We need to hurry." He found a weak spot in the hedge and pushed through, ignoring the way the branches caught on his robes.

"The list you saw, were there any notes with it?" Luna asked quietly, slipping through the hedge in turn. "Something mentioning this location. Perhaps they stole a note from the Secret Keeper somehow, and it's not broken as much as you've just been let in on the secret."

"Me and dozens of other Ministry employees whose hands that list passed through," Percy said. He didn't mention what they were both thinking: it was equally possible that the Secret Keeper themself had been captured. He strode across the field, fast enough that Luna had to run after him. "Who's Secret Keeper for this place?" he asked.

"I never asked," Luna said. "It's safer the fewer people know."

"I suppose that's true," Percy said, wondering if it was somebody he knew. It could well be someone in his family, and if they'd fallen into enemy hands... "I don't remember any notes," he added. "The list gave an address in Shipbury, which I suppose is the address of this barn. It was in the same handwriting as the rest of the list, so far as I could tell. It looked like it was probably written with some sort of auto-dictation quill, but I couldn't name what type off hand."

"Hmm," Luna said. "Then we'd better assume that this location isn't safe at all, anymore."

"Better than trusting in Ionian Snurtweasels," Percy snapped.

"Aeolian," Luna said. "It's because when they face a strong wind, their snouts make a sort of whistling—"

"I don't care." He could see lights in the windows of the barn. On the other side of those walls, only moments away, were a lot of people he'd walked out on. He didn't suppose they particularly wanted to see him again, and they certainly wouldn't want to hear the news he was bringing with him.

"Who goes there?"

The person who suddenly stepped out from behind a haystack was wearing a heavy hooded cloak, but Percy recognized him instantly all the same. "Bill. It's me. Your location is known and the Fidelius is broken, we need to flee."

Bill didn't lower his wand an inch. "Luna. When and where did you and I first meet?"

"A little over a year ago in March, after we escaped from Malfoy Manor. Dobby brought us to Shell Cottage, where you were living."

Bill nodded. "And Percy—" He paused, apparently attempting to think of an appropriate question.

"Dumbledore asked me to spy for the Order on the second of February, 1994," Percy snapped. "For obvious reasons, I don't remember the first time I met you. But the first time I saw you take points from a family member was in my third year, on the second day of class, when Fred and George started their Hogwarts careers with a bang by letting off a stink bomb in the fifth floor corridor. You took ten points each. Is that sufficient?"

"All the way back in '94..." Bill murmured. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Dumbledore told me not to. As Luna was just saying, it's safer the fewer people know. But we need to hurry. I found a list at the Ministry this evening that said 'Weasley' and gave this location. And I was able to see the barn without Luna showing me the Secret Keeper's note. We need to get everyone out of here right away."

"Okay," Bill said. "Come on." He put a hand on Percy's shoulder as he led the way the rest of the way to the barn.

Percy thought about shrugging him off, but then it was the first interaction he'd had with a family member that hadn't involved things being thrown since the Dark Lord had returned. So he supposed he might as well let him be. "I'm sorry I missed your wedding," he said.

"Considering it was the same day the Ministry fell, you could hardly have done otherwise," Bill said. "I'm glad you're all right."

The sentiment was unfamiliar, and Percy blinked. "Thank you, I'm glad you're all right too."

Bill opened the door to the barn and stepped inside. "I've verified their identities, it's safe for the moment," he said. "But we're going to need to get ready to leave soon."

"Percy?" Mother exclaimed, hurrying forward. "Percy, what are you doing here?"

"I'll be right back," Bill murmured as the other occupants of the barn gathered round, and left the room through the far door.

Percy looked around. Mother, Ginny, and George were standing there, along with a couple of people Percy vaguely remembered from his Hogwarts years, though he couldn't remember their names. "I found a list with your names on," Percy said. "At least, it said 'Weasley', so I don't know if they knew about the rest of you." He took the chocolate frog out of his robe pocket and untransfigured it. Mother started to cry. "As far as I know, this is the only copy, so you may very well be safe, but we daren't take that risk. I don't know who knows, and I don't know how they know. I was able to see the barn from the road when Luna hadn't shown me anything from the Secret Keeper, so either the Fidelius Charm has been broken or this list somehow lets the reader in on the secret. Either way, it's not safe here anymore. Who's in charge of the Order now? Are they here?"

George stepped forward, pushing Mother back to stand behind him and Ginny. "You think we're going to tell _you_ that?" George said icily.

"I'm not—" Percy started, and then tried again. He was acutely aware of glares on every side except Luna's. "Why do you think I came here if I'm not working for the Order?"

"I think," George said, sounding as angry as Percy had ever heard him, much more than even the time when Percy had gone snooping in his Hogwarts trunk and accidentally set a forty-Galleon stash of fireworks on fire. "I think you came here because seeing your own family's name on that list was finally too much for you, that it was somehow _different_ than all of the calumnies you've turned a blind eye to—if not outright supported—over the last few years, and you finally couldn't take it any longer. I think that's why you came here, and I'm thankful that you told us about the danger we're in, but that doesn't mean I think you're on our side any more than you were before."

"Percy said he's been working as a spy for Dumbledore," Luna volunteered, and Percy flinched. He'd never heard that spoken out loud so blatantly before. It felt like something that oughtn't to be said any louder than a whisper.

"Don't believe anything he says," George said. Percy sighed. Mother cried harder.

* * *

In the days after the Dark Lord's final victory at the Battle of Hogwarts, it was quite some time before anyone knew for certain what was going on. Harry Potter was dead and Lord Voldemort was alive; everyone agree on that. But what would become of the world was a complete mystery. At the Ministry, where Percy was trying to stay quiet and keep his head down, rumors flew fast and furious. Nobody there seemed to know anything beyond what they'd read in the _Daily Prophet_ , but that didn't stop people from speculating broadly and loudly.

"Voldemort will be sworn in as Minister within the week," Sharpe from the second floor said over lunch, ignoring two of their coworkers at the next table hissing at him not to use that name.

Percy shoved a bite of shepherd's pie into his mouth, stared at his book— _99 Spells Any Accountant Wizard Should Know_ —and let the conversation wash over and past him.

"The Dark Lord won't finalize his takeover until he knows what happened to Harry Potter's body," Michael from Magical Artifacts said, ignoring the number of heads that turned to him when he let Potter's name pass his lips.

"I heard that the Dark Lord knows exactly what happened to Potter, and he's just not telling anybody," said Susan from the fourth floor (or perhaps the third? Percy couldn't remember). Several people nodded along.

"Good riddance," someone else said—Percy didn't catch who. As many people nodded along to that as had done to the previous statement.

Percy risked looking up further from his book for a moment, glancing around at the faces of his coworkers. Most of them didn't look particularly concerned about the death of Potter or the disappearance of so many of his allies, or even about having Lord Voldemort himself take over charge of this place. But then, they'd all been taking orders from Voldemort for over a year, only in a more roundabout way. Anyone who objected to that was either already gone, or they were keeping it very quiet, the same as Percy was.

Percy finished his last bite of lunch, closed his book, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and pushed his chair back. He didn't say anything about Voldemort or about Harry Potter or about his family, and nobody asked him what he thought. Perhaps it would have been good if someone had asked him, because he would have had the chance to lie and declare once again how little he agreed with his family's views. But in that moment, not knowing yet if any of his family had even safely escaped the battle, he was very glad that he didn't have to say anything at all.

He hurried back up the stairs to the Minister's office, vaguely wondering if Sharpe was right and if Voldemort would be there, standing in the office in Thicknesse's place. But no, there was Thicknesse, still smiling that blurry Imperiused smile. "Ah, Weasley! Did you finish those reports?"

"The first two are on your desk, Minister," Percy said. "I'm just returning from lunch now, but I should have the third one done within the hour."

"Ah, marvelous, marvelous. What would I do without you?"

"I'm sure I don't know, sir." Percy put his lunchbox and _99 Spells Any Accountant Wizard Should Know_ inside the top drawer of his desk, pulled out his chair, and resumed work on the report. The Minister didn't say anything about Voldemort, or about Harry Potter, or about the war, or about Percy's family; and neither did Percy. They carried on as if it was any other week, in any other country, where there wasn't a war on at all.

That evening, when Percy returned to his flat, there was a note tucked into the jamb of the front door. "The usual place," it read.

The usual meeting place was a Muggle car park just as it would be a year later, though in those days it was outside of a glass-fronted Boots store. Percy took the usual precautions, Apparating several times and each time walking a quarter mile or so while checking for anyone following him before he continued on to his next stop. Eventually, when he reached the car park in question, Kingsley Shacklebolt was waiting for him.

Percy had never been so happy to see anyone in all of his life. He could nearly have hugged Shacklebolt, except that he suspected it would both go unappreciated and make Shacklebolt terribly suspicious of Percy's identity. But after being surrounded by enemies for months, and after days of not knowing anything that was going on, seeing a friendly face was like a glimpse of sunlight finally breaking through storm clouds.

Percy hurried through the password and identity verification questions, and Shacklebolt reciprocated. Then, for a moment, they just stood there staring at each other: two very tired men who had just lost a war.

"Is everyone...are they..." Percy started, but couldn't bring himself to finish the question.

"Your family?" Shacklebolt asked.

Percy nodded.

"Bad news first," Shacklebolt said, and Percy curled his hands tight until his fingernails bit at his palms. "Fred was killed in the battle."

He'd died thinking Percy hated him and their family. The last thing he'd said to Percy was " _How dare you call yourself a Weasley_." The last thing Percy had said to him—well, it was so long ago that Percy couldn't even remember. Percy took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Go on."

"Ron has disappeared. Nobody knows for certain what happened to him, or to his friend Hermione Granger who disappeared along with him. Some say they went off with Neville Longbottom to look for a way to make You-Know-Who mortal, but that may just be wishful thinking. The Lestranges have been saying that Ron and Hermione are dead, but there's currently no reason for us to give those claims credence."

"Is there any reason not to believe them?"

"Several different people separately mentioned them running off with Longbottom, so there is reason to believe there is at least some truth inherent in that claim. The Lestranges' claim, on the other hand, has no evidence that we know of. And You-Know-Who has made no statement on the matter, while he was quite happy to announce the death of Harry Potter to all and sundry."

"Harry was a good kid," Percy said.

Shacklebolt nodded. "He came so close," he said. "It was a terrible loss for us all."

"And the rest of my family?" Percy asked.

"To the best of my knowledge, they are all safe. The only ones I can say for absolutely certain are Bill and Fleur and George, as I visited the location where they're hiding—you'll forgive me if I don't say where that is—a few days ago. They hadn't had news from the rest of your family, but they confirmed that all of them had Apparated away after Harry was bitten by Nagini, before You-Know-Who's forces finally overwhelmed the castle."

Percy sagged back against the Muggle dustbin that he was standing next to. "They're all right," he said. "Father and Mother and...and almost everybody. They're alive."

"For now. Of course You-Know-Who will be hunting down everyone who escaped his retribution. These next months will be very dangerous for us all."

Percy nodded. "Do you think he'll dispense with the fiction of Thicknesse being in charge, and take over the Ministry directly?"

"Whoever performed the Imperius curse on Pius Thicknesse did an extremely skillful job of it," Shacklebolt mused. "He's done everything that You-Know-Who would wish over the last year, leaving him free to run things behind the scenes. No, I do not think that You-Know-Who wishes to be Minister himself; the nitty-gritty details of day-to-day government hold no interest for him. Perhaps they will oust their puppet and lift a new puppet, one who needs no curse, in his place; but perhaps they will wish to placate frightened Wizarding-kind by a show of continuity."

"And leave Thicknesse in charge for now?"

"And the rest of the Ministry staff."

Percy swallowed. "You want me to stay at the Ministry."

"If you will," Shacklebolt said. "A spy on the inside of You-Know-Who's Ministry would be of great utility. That's why Dumbledore asked you to do this, years ago, and even though many things have changed since then, the fact that we need brave people on the inside hasn't."

Percy supposed he hadn't really expected Shacklebolt to ask him to do any differently, but still he wished terribly that Shacklebolt had instead offered to sweep him away to wherever George and Bill and the new sister-in-law Percy had only met briefly, years ago at the Triwizard Tournament, were hiding. The Ministry was so lonely when one didn't trust a single person one worked with. "I'll stay, because I must," he said.

Shacklebolt clapped him on the shoulder. "You're a true Gryffindor, Percy. The password for next time is Flobberworm, Erumpent, Dragon, and the countersign is Bowtruckle, Chizpurfle, Niffler. We'll continue to meet in this same location. I'll send a note if I need to speak to you. Don't initiate contact yourself unless it's vitally important, but if you must, either I or someone else will be here every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evening for two minutes at seven PM."

Percy swallowed hard. He might barely know Shacklebolt, but he couldn't bear to have him leave and be all alone again. "Please—"

"We shouldn't stand here any longer than we must or we'll attract attention," Shacklebolt said. "Good luck, Percy."

"Give my love to my family," Percy said.

"You know I can't do that," Shacklebolt said, and Disapparated.

Percy blinked back tears, and began the long multi-Apparition journey home to his empty flat. He supposed this life was the best he could hope for, in a world where Voldemort had won the war, but he still didn't like it very much.

* * *

"I'm not lying," Percy protested, raising his voice to be heard over Mother's sobs. "Dumbledore told me I couldn't tell any of you, because the more people who know, the greater risk that someone else will manage to find out. But I've been working for the Order since I first started working at the Ministry."

"Fat chance," said George.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt was my contact in the Order until he disappeared last November," Percy said. "I'm the one who reported that Neville Longbottom's hiding place had been discovered; did he get out in time? After Kingsley, for a while it was either Professor Flitwick or Ernie MacMillan who would meet me at the contact point. It's been months since I've made direct contact, though; Professor Flitwick warned me I needed to keep my head down even father as they've started looking more closely at Purebloods. I know telling you this doesn't prove anything, but it's all I have. Dumbledore didn't give me any way to prove that I was working for him any more than I've already given you. You can ask Luna, I knew the password for the current Order meeting place; I wouldn't have known that if I were just working for the Ministry and got cold feet."

"You could have gotten it if you're a spy for the other side and they got it somehow."

"Now don't be ridiculous," Percy snapped, the fear and tension he had felt all day suddenly dissolving into hot anger. "You know I wouldn't stoop that low, and there's no reason for you to think that of me. You can think I'm a prat, but I'll be damned if you call me a traitor for no reason. I might be a blood traitor, but I'm not a traitor to my family. Now if you don't believe me, then say so, and I'll leave—but you should still get out of here right away regardless, because you're in danger whether you like it or not." He shook the list of upcoming arrests in George's face. "So shall I stay or shall I go?"

"I'm sorry," George said, and held out his hand. "It's been a hard year. I'm glad you're on our side."

Percy shook his hand. As the anger faded away, he felt strangely cold and empty. Too much stress for too long, he supposed. George's hand was the only warmth around him, and he squeezed his hand for as long as he could without it seeming odd.

"I still think you're a prat," George added as he released the handshake and gave Percy a thump on the back.

Percy shrugged, too tired to come up with a snippy reply. "I don't care what you think as long as you hurry," he said. "I told you, everyone needs to leave this place at once."

Mother pushed past George and flung her arms around Percy. "I'm so sorry I didn't realize you were working for Dumbledore," she wailed. "I should have known all along, sweetheart. I don't know why I believed you could actually think all those terrible things."

"Obviously, I'm just a very good actor," Percy said, smiling weakly.

Mother backed off from the hug just enough to smile at him through her tears. She patted his shoulders. "I'm so proud of you," she said. "Part of the Order of the Phoenix, just like your uncles and siblings. And such a _brave_ part, too. I can't believe you've been out there, all alone, for so long—" She dissolved into sobs again.

Bill came back into the room through the far door. "The others are packing," he said. "Why aren't you lot getting ready?"

"Oh, of course," Mother said, and scurried off, wiping her eyes.

"Right," George said. "Luna, do you need a hand?"

"No, I shouldn't take long at all," Luna said. "I've got the important half of my belongings in my bag already." She and George both left the room through a side door on the other side from where she and Percy had come in, and Ginny followed them.

"Do you need help with packing anything?" Percy asked Bill.

"Everything essential is already packed, but since I think we can spare a few minutes, we might as well take the kitchen things with us," Bill said. "Come on."

He led the way to a small makeshift kitchen, and one shelf-full at a time, charmed the dishes out of the cabinets and into bags that Percy enlarged and held open for him.

"I'm glad you're all right," Bill said. "We've missed you, you know. I wish you'd told us what you were really up to, though I know you couldn't take the risk."

"I wish I could have told you, too."

"So many secrets, these days. It's no way to live." Bill swept the contents of the final shelf into the bag Percy was holding, and sighed. "But at least it's a way not to die."

Mother came back into the room, a traveling bag slung over her shoulder, and her arms full of knit sweaters. "Happy belated Christmas, Percy," she said, thrusting the whole pile into his arms. "I made you a sweater every year even though you weren't here. I had to guess your size on some of the later ones. You've grown so tall! You're too skinny, though. Have you been eating enough?"

Percy retrieved his own bag of belongings, untied the top, and did his best to fit the pile of sweaters inside even though it was already mostly full. "Cooking isn't nearly as easy as you made it look," he said. "I just forget to eat, sometimes, sitting at home all alone." He didn't mention that worry and fear didn't make for a very good appetite, but he supposed they could figure it out.

"Well, in that case, will you stay for dinner?" Mother asked as the others reentered the room with their bags. "Bill, dear, you didn't have to pack the kitchen up quite yet. We should eat a good meal before we go, in case we're traveling for a while."

"We can't risk waiting long enough for a meal," Percy insisted. "I don't know if this is the only copy of the list. I don't know who found out your location, and I don't know how many people know. I don't know whether the Fidelius Charm is completely broken or whether it's only extended to people who read the list that they don't have anymore because I stole it. But regardless, you have to flee right now, you can't wait a minute longer." He forced himself to smile. "But yes, I will stay for dinner I'm coming with you."

* * *

When Percy had boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time, he had felt terribly proud and grown-up. He'd ignored Mother's fussing over him, and had insisted upon shaking hands with Father in lieu of a hug. He'd patted the twins on the head and made comments about "Don't you wish you got to go to Hogwarts like me and Bill and Charlie."

He hadn't realized what he was leaving behind, that after that they would only be together as a family in the summers—and later on, not even that. At the time, the world seemed exciting and full of possibilities, while his home seemed so small, and full of people who didn't understand him.

And perhaps they hadn't understood him. Fred and George had never understood why Percy hated their pranks. Bill and Charlie had never understood why Percy wanted peace and quiet. Ron and Ginny had always been so much younger than Percy that he'd never really tried to make them understand what he wanted from life. He'd given them advice, but when they'd ignored it, he'd given up.

But they were still his family, and that was what he hadn't understood the significance of as an eleven-year-old. They'd all been so young then, with so much time ahead of them, and they'd wasted so much of it.

But all he'd known then was that one could buy all sorts of sweets on board the Hogwarts Express, and he was going to get a job someday that would make him rich enough that he could buy every single one of them. Someday, maybe he would even be Minister for Magic. Life was going to be wonderful.

* * *

"But you're probably the only person we have inside," Luna said after a moment of silence. "Splinchley had to flee in the last crackdown, and he was the only contact we knew about."

"Whoever the others were—if there were any others—Kingsley took that information to his grave," Bill said. "Unless you know. Did Dumbledore or anyone else mention if they had others in the Ministry besides you?"

Percy shook his head. "If they did, everyone kept it extremely secret. And I really doubt that there were. If there is somebody, it's nobody any of us know."

"Then you're our only hope," Luna said. "You saved us, tonight. We would have been sitting horngibbles if you hadn't warned us. And you saved Neville's life last April."

"He got out okay?"

"He's fine. Charlie took him and his Gran back to Romania to hide out there for a while. Dad went with them, that's why he's not here. They've had to dodge a variety of You Know Who's minions, but things aren't as bad there as they are here."

"I'm glad they're all all right," Percy said. "But don't you see, the list might have been left for me as a trap. And if it was, and if I go back in to the Ministry, then _I'll_ be a sitting horngibbet." Or whatever it was that Luna had mentioned; at the moment he could think of nothing less important than whatever nonsensical creature she had just compared herself to.

"Horngibble," Luna informed him, without being asked. "They're very slow-moving waterfowl that never move from their nests once their eggs are laid. But you're right, you would have to be very brave to go back to the Ministry."

"I can be brave," Percy said. "I'm just tired of having to be brave all by myself." With horror, he realized that tears were trickling from the corners of his eyes, right in front of everybody.

Bill patted his shoulder, and then something unheard of happened: George stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him. "Are you...hugging me?" Percy asked, blinking.

"Don't worry, I won't make a habit of it," George said. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you." He stepped back and put his hands in his pockets. "You've been doing good work, and you're just as much a Gryffindor as the rest of us, any comments to the contrary I may have made earlier aside."

"You think I should go back, too," Percy said.

"Yeah, I'm afraid so. We're playing Quidditch blindfolded these days, and having you there will at least give us a chance to score a few goals, even if we still don't know where the Snitch is. You said the list might have been a trap, but do you have any concrete reason to think that it would be? You had us all convinced, I don't see why everybody at the Ministry shouldn't be convinced too."

"I hope so," Percy said with a sigh. He curled his fingers tightly around the handles of his bag of belongings. "I suppose you're all correct."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that about me," George said. "Too bad it couldn't be in better circumstances."

"Perhaps we can at least find a way to keep in touch now and then," Mother said.

"I'm sure that would be possible," Bill said. "McGonagall's in charge of the Order now, and I don't see why she wouldn't approve—and besides, with so few chances for contact, we're mostly just doing our own thing anyway."

"Oh, I should give you these back," Percy said, tugging the handles of his sack out of their knot. He lifted out the stack of sweaters that he'd squeezed in there, and unfolded the top one to shake out the wrinkles. "I'm very glad you were thinking of me at Christmas," he said, "but I can't dare be found with these." He folded the sweater back up and ran his hand over the gold "P" on the front, before setting it with the others on a nearby counter.

"I suppose you can't," Mother said with a sniffle. She flung her arms around him, and Percy hugged her back. If he buried his head in her shoulder enough, nobody could see whether he was tearing up too. Though nobody could blame him if he was: one could be the bravest Gryffindor that ever lived, he supposed, and still hurt in a moment like this, to have one's family returned to one and then snatched away again within minutes.

"I'll just...be going then," he said.

Ginny stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him: not nearly as enthusiastic a hug as Mother's, but a hug all the same. "I'm sorry for all the awful things I thought about you, and most of the ones I said," she said.

"I'm sorry I had to make you believe so many things of me that weren't true," Percy said.

"There will be somebody at the meeting place every night this week," Luna said. "If it turns out that it was a trap at all, if you can get in touch in any way, we may be able to help you."

"Good luck, Perce," George said. "Thanks for not being half as much of a prat as I thought you were."

"You all...take care of yourselves," Percy said. He thrust the list at Bill. "And see if you can help some of the other people on the list. I need to take this back, or I'll make myself a suspect for certain when its absence is noted. But if you can get word to some of them in advance..."

Bill glanced over the list and handed it back to Percy. "We'll see what we can do," he said.

"That's all I ask," Percy said. "Now all of you, promise me you won't go and get yourselves caught after all the trouble I went to, keeping you safe."

"Only if you promise us the same," Bill said. "It's late. We should all be going." He led the way outside, and then, one by one and two by two, the occupants of the barn Apparated away.

Once they had all gone, and Percy was standing all alone, Percy Apparated back home.

Or rather, he Apparated back to his flat. Funny how it didn't feel nearly as much like home as had the barn he had just left, even though that was the only time he'd set foot there in his entire life. He set his bag down and, with a sigh, began to unpack.

* * *

This, Percy, though, was quite likely the best day of his life. Finally leaving school behind and becoming a man of the real world, taking the first step towards making all his dreams of becoming Minister come true. He pressed his hands firmly against the side seams of his dress robes so that nobody he passed would notice that they were trembling. Except for that small betrayal by his body, he rather fancied he looked right at home here in the Ministry. Nobody he passed could possibly guess that he hadn't already worked here for years. (Well, except for the fact that he did still look quite young, Percy supposed. But that only meant they would all know he had plenty of years of growth and advancement ahead of him.)

He had last spoken to Dumbledore two weeks ago, on the day before end of term. The Headmaster had taken time out of his busy schedule to summon Percy to his office and confer privately with him, reminding him of their agreement. It had been enough for Percy to think that this had been a rather good decision after all, to help Dumbledore out with a little bit of information here and there, and the Order of the Phoenix too if it was recreated eventually. Even before Percy had done anything for him, Dumbledore thought Percy was worthy of a private conference. How much more, years from now, once Percy had spied faithfully for him? Perhaps he might help smooth Percy's path to the top of the Ministry. Percy felt sure he was capable of becoming Minister all by himself, but it never hurt to have people on one's side.

Of course that was all depending on if there was a Ministry years from now for Percy to be Minister of. The way Father and Dumbledore and some people were talking lately, they acted as if one couldn't count on that. But the Ministry of Magic had been around for nearly three centuries, and Percy rather thought they were worrying too much.

As for Percy himself, he was much more worried about making a good impression on his first day of work and over the days to come. "Good morning, Mr. Crouch, sir," he said brightly as he finally arrived at the room he'd been told to report to. "I'm—"

"Ah, Weatherly," Mr. Crouch said. "Take these files, write a one-paragraph summary of each one, and have it on my desk by the end of the day."

"Yes...sir," Percy said to Mr. Crouch's retreating back. He looked around the room for a moment, found an empty desk, and got to work. He told himself he ought to finish the summaries by lunch; that would surely impress Mr. Crouch.

And maybe sometime soon, he'd stumble across some information for Dumbledore, and then both of his bosses would be proud of him. Yes, Percy thought he was going to do very well indeed at this job.

* * *

Percy stepped into the Ministry atrium, hands pressed tightly to his sides to hide any betraying quiver. He kept his head down and took one step after another—out of the atrium, into the elevator, down the hall, into the Minister's outer office. Nobody had said anything to him; nobody seemed to be looking at him; nobody seemed to think him worthy of their attention. For once, Percy was grateful for the lack of regard.

The folder from which Percy had taken the list of arrests was still sitting right where he'd left it, on a bookshelf next to the door to the inner office. Percy glanced around the room quickly, and then cast _Revelio_ for good measure. It still wasn't perfectly safe, but he supposed he was about as safe as one could expect to be in the Ministry with hundreds of enemies surrounding one. At least nobody else worked in this room, or else he wasn't sure what he would have done. He slipped the chocolate frog from his pocket where it had nestled all night, untransfigured it one last time, and slid the list into the folder. His family would be long gone from Shipbury by now. They were safe: he had to count on that. He took the folder and set it in the Minister's inbox, at the very bottom of all the other files and papers that nestled there. Or perhaps that would be too suspicious—he took the folder back out of the pile, counted three papers up from the bottom, and replaced it there. Much better.

Nobody had come in. That was not unusual; until the Minister came in to work, his office was of little interest to anybody but Percy. But it boded well. Percy didn't want to be of interest to anybody, because the only interest he was likely to attract these days was nothing good. And the longer this kept up, the more likely it was that he was truly safe and that the list was not a trap.

Percy stepped away from the bookcase and sat down at his desk. Time to play the perfect loyal worker. It was a role that came very easily to Percy, because it was exactly what he'd always wanted to be. To be honest, he'd much rather be sitting in this office actually helping the Minister because he cared about the Ministry and because he wanted to do his best, rather than sitting here helping the Minister because it was his only chance at helping people he cared about stay safe. But that wasn't the way his life had turned out, and so here he was.

He wondered if it was better or worse now that his family knew his secret. It was terribly nice, not having them hate him anymore—he could still feel the warmth of all their arms wrapped around him, more hugs than he'd had in years all squeezed into a few minutes. But he worried that it might be harder to keep going now, now that he'd had the reminder that he wasn't just a solitary person, detached from anything that might make him vulnerable. He had a family out there: a family who loved him despite everything, and whom he missed now far more terribly than he'd missed them a week earlier. Going back to that empty one-bedroom flat was going to be harder now than it ever had been before. (Perhaps he ought to get a cat.)

The outer door of the office swung open, and Pius Thicknesse walked in, smiling vacantly. Percy leapt to his feet. "Good morning, Minister," he said. "The reports from yesterday are all in your inbox, sir. I'm working on a compilation of action points from the various memos that the division heads have sent since you left the office yesterday afternoon, unless you would like me to set that aside and do something else?"

"No, carry on, carry on, Weasley," Thicknesse said, collecting the pile from his inbox and wandering into the inner office.

"Very good, Minister," Percy said as the inner office door swung shut, as if it actually mattered.

He supposed it did matter, quite a bit. The longer he played his part, the longer he'd be able to stay here. And he intended to stay here quite some time.


End file.
